I’m inspired by Jamaica Kincaid, Girl. I was recalled back to my time growing up with my
grandparents and their regimented schedules.
Its 5 am and my papa is already up and has moved the grass and planted collard
greens; By 7am he tells me that I have slept half the day away; my grandmother hits
the base of my door with a vacuum repeatedly to wake me up; that isn’t enough now
Zydeco is blasting loudly; Step Rideaux; THE DOOR TO THE GARAGE NEVER
STOPS OPENING AND I CAN HEAR THE SLAMS AND THE SLAPS TO THE
THERESHOLD REPEATEDLY; CREAK AND WHINE; grandmother beats on my wooden
door SWINGS my door open and turns on the light; DON’T THINK YOU GONE LAY
THERE ALL DAY; but its saturday god forbid I rest I think rest is forbidden in black
families; trauma makes us work even when we don’t have to; we think we are supposed
TO BE WORKING ALL THE DAY TIME; we don’t think we deserve rest we have to keep
working cracking knuckles GUTTING FISH SNAPPING BEANS MAKING ROUX no you
are burning the roux FEELING SORRY FOR LIVE CRABS IN THE SINK ;CLEANING
BOILED TO DEATH CRABS IN THE SINK cleaning greens skinning coons trapping
coons HOWMANYTIMES CAN ONE FLOOR BE SWEPT; THE VACCUM HAS
STOPPED AND THE WOOD FLOOR PLANKS ARE CREAKING; GRANDMOTHER
LAUGHING; PAPA SWINGS HER AROUND THE LIVING ROOM FLOOR; zydeco ing
speaking broken FRENCH my Papa slaps my grandmothers butt and I smile thinking
they were once young folks too; THAT NEVER GOT TO REST to only steal moments
between work and wiping sweat
